


This Fond Embrace I Now Exchange

by Narutwink



Series: Long Time Traveler [5]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: F/M, It will get better I swear, M/M, Panic Attack, saddness all around
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 13:27:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/913733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narutwink/pseuds/Narutwink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras hates himself and Grantaire feels more alone than he ever had before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Fond Embrace I Now Exchange

Grantaire was afraid. He was terrified and he was alone. He would, for the most part, be alone for a long time. He had nothing to do currently except sketch and be left to his thoughts. The latter not enticing at all. He had to give up everything he owned do to his “witness protection program” or whatever it was he was apart of now. The FBI had allowed him to buy a new wardrobe, a skimpy one at that but still better than nothing, and would allow him to get a computer and other tech things he wanted once he landed in Ireland. 

 

Grantaire, at this point, didn’t care about all the expensive things the FBI could get him because sure as hell hadn’t needed it up until this point. He had refused Enjolras’s offer of his old laptop since Enjolras had purchased a new Mac. Grantaire liked working for what he owned, his Ipod and old Dell being the most expensive things that were not art related that he owned. 

 

Now he would have to start from scratch and although he would rather buy it himself, he wanted art supplies and a way to listen to music and he had no other income at the moment. 

 

“ _Pick your poison._ ” Courfeyrac would have said if he’d been there. But he wasn’t there. 

 

No one was. 

 

Grantaire laid his head back and hoped he could sleep his way to Ireland, he couldn’t of course, instead he spent the time sketching. He sketched the Les Amis in its entirety, not just Enjolras as so often was the case. This, pathetically, was the only way he could still be close to them. He hated it, but he knew this was for the best. It had almost become a mantra within his mind. 

 

_‘You have to do this. Do it for them. Do it for him.’_

 

He hated everyone who had done this to him, he hated the people who were making Enjolras hurt and, most of all, Grantaire hated himself. 

 

The weeks after Grantaire’s funeral were shaky and broken for all of the Les Amis. Bahorel and Courfeyrac spent more nights in the bar than not, Eponine was holed up in Combeferre’s room, crying and worse, not making a sound at all at times. Joly and Jehan had spent a day at Grantaire’s grave “just talking” according to Bossuet and Musichetta, Feuilly had hung up a painting he had received for a present years ago by Grantaire. Marius and Cosette had gone to grief counselor and Enjolras; Enjolras had not given himself time to think about it. He never let his mind linger on Grantaire for more than a few minutes at a time; it hurt too much not to. He would lose momentum and then he would be hit with a sudden image of Grantaire, smiling, laughing, dying and he would be at full force again. 

 

Only in the dead of night, when Combeferre, and sometimes Eponine, had stopped moving would he stare at his phone until he called a familiar number. Grantaire had long ago set up a call back tone more annoying than any of his arguments, “Call Me Maybe,” would play out until he answered. It had never gotten past the first few words, he never thought the words _“Hey, I just met you and this is crazy. But here’s my number, so call me maybe?”_ would make him want to sob until his heart gave out. 

 

_“Hey,”_ Enjolras jumped. It was Grantaire’s voice. The one he used when he didn’t really know what to say or he was nervous. Enjolras shut his eyes. 

 

_“I’m either hung over or doing something that is, more or less, important. So, if this is an emergency leave a message and I’m sure I’ll get to it eventually, or maybe not. Take your chance.”_

 

Enjolras smiled. It was pathetic, he knew, to cling on to something so stupid. A voicemail. But it was the only way to hear his voice again, the only way he could cope. 

 

Grantaire makes his first call to Combeferre nearly three weeks after his “funeral.” It had taken him that long to become a new person. 

 

Grant Aries. Very original.

He had acquired a new cell phone, Ipod and computer within this time. He had also purchased over a thousand dollars in art supplies. If he was going to cope he was going to drown in the two things he could do best, art and drinking. Alcohol had also been purchased in bulk. Grantaire had fumbled with his new phone, not knowing how to actually work a smartphone. He finally figured it out after trying to call Google four times. Combeferre picked up on the fourth ring.

“Hello. This is Combeferre, if you are reaching out to the Les Amis you can call our second in command, if you are going to criticize us, I really don’t have time for it but you are entitled to your opinion.” 

 

Had the situation been anything other than what it was, Grantaire would have started laughing. But it wasn’t and he was shaking. 

 

“It’s me. Can you talk?”

 

Combeferre was silent for a moment and Grantaire heard shuffling and a few doors shutting quietly. It was nearly three minutes before Combeferre finally began to speak. 

 

“How are you?” Combeferre asks. He could hear the concern in Combeferre’s voice and Grantaire decided to never mention the hundreds of dollars spent on drink. 

 

“As well as you would expect, which is not at all, but when have I ever been? I’m safe though and Ireland is very green. The accents are cool though. You?” Grantaire was rambling and he knew it. He was just afraid to hear the damage of his death on his friends. 

 

“I’m well enough. It helps...to know. I mean I am talking to you.”

 

Grantaire was waiting for the other shoe to drop; he knew Combeferre would tell him. Not to hurt him but so he knew. Grantaire couldn’t, some day, go back and act like nothing happened. 

 

“The others?” There is silence. Combeferre has to use his words carefully and gently. He doesn’t want Grantaire to hurt more than he is necessary. None of this seemed necessary though, it felt more like torture. 

 

“I’m sure you can guess. They, they are all in pretty bad shape. Eponine…I’m sure it will pass one day but, she’s spent most of her time sleeping and crying. Bahorel and Courfeyrac have been drinking to honor your name,”

Grantaire snorts.

“Jehan and Joly visited your grave with Bossuet and Musichetta. It seemed to really help. Joly thinks he’s caught a cold infused with cancer but, that’s not something new. Feuilly is dealing by keeping your things on his wall and Cosette and Marius have been getting professional help and it’s showing. They are getting better everyday. Soon, they might even all be back to their old selves.” 

 

Grantaire is silent. He smiles but his heart breaks a little more. He wishes his friends would forget him. He knew they never would but, he wanted to make their pain stop and it seemed Combeferre was leaving Enjolras out on purpose.

 

“And Enjolras?”

 

Combeferre is silent, this time even longer than the last. Grantaire’s heart aches more because he realizes it must be even worse than he thought. 

 

“He just doesn’t stop. He is trying to make up for everything by trying to work twice as hard and twice as intense on rallies and meetings and…it’s quiet. The meetings, without you there.” 

 

Grantaire realizes it’s not an insult by the tone in Combeferre’s voice. 

 

“We’ve only had two since your “funeral,” it didn’t suck by the way. There was a playlist mishap but it helped for everyone to laugh. But, there was a moment we all expected to hear you say something, anything, and there was silence. We all noticed. Especially him, I’m not telling you to make it hurt, I just want you to know we won’t forget you.” Combeferre says the last part quickly and Grantaire can’t help but be touched. 

 

“Thank you.” Grantaire whispers. He doesn’t want to start crying but he can feel it starting. “I’ll uhm…I’ll call you later, okay?”

 

“Okay. And Grantaire?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Take care of yourself, please.”

 

Combeferre hangs up and rubs his eyes. He can tell Grantaire is heading down a very destructive path and there was nothing he could do. He could also see Enjolras going down, not the same but an equally destructive, path. Combeferre sighs and heads back inside and towards his room. He finds Eponine fast asleep and he hopes he can finally get her to go out with him to try and cheer her up the next day. He knows she probably won’t, but it’s the support she needs. 

 

Grantaire hangs up the phone and he can feel tears prickling the back of his eyes and he, very seriously, considers drinking himself into a stupor so he doesn’t have to worry about sleeping. 

 

He doesn’t though. Combeferre asked him to take care of himself, and he was the only one who could watch out for him now. Tonight, at least, he would follow Combeferre’s wishes and, instead, Grantaire heads to his new bed in his new little house in the middle of Limerick, Ireland. Jehan would appreciate that. 

 

It was quiet in his house, and Grantaire hated it. He hated the idea of a new roommate even more. He would rather sit in the madding silence than trying  
to replace Jehan. He sighed and laid down but this only lead to him tossing and turning for three hours until he finally fell asleep. The nightmares that came with the sleep didn’t help Grantaire very much though. 

 

 

It had been over a month since Grantaire’s death and Enjolras was starting to run out of steam. It was 11 am and he had already gone around town setting up flyers, drank six cups of coffee with extra espresso and was on his way to meet with Combeferre to discuss the next rally. There was still danger from radical groups, but Grantaire had been labeled the “leader” of the Les Amis and a martyr by the media. Enjolras was not going to ruin their ill gained safety by telling the world he was the leader to get back his pride and also, it makes Grantaire to more than he believed himself. In the last moments that Enjolras had seen Grantaire he was full of hope and love and nothing Enjolras would ever do would compare to that. The media showed that side of him, the one Grantaire himself had only just scratched the surface of. The Amis had denied ever giving interviews about the incident and Grantaire himself, no one needed to know the groups pain and they also didn’t need to judge the man who took a bullet to save his friends. 

 

Enjolras was in the midst of a text to Combeferre when he felt dizzy. He realized that three hours of sleep in four days would catch up with him eventually and it was very inconvenient. Enjolras made his way to a nearby bench and sat down and rested his head in his hands as a piercing headache made its way through his skull. He was starting to get jittery and shaking and he knew it might be the beginnings of a panic attack and the only thing he could think to do was dial the only number that mattered to him at that moment. 

 

He had used Grantaire’s voicemail, his voice, as an anchor. He knew Grantaire was gone but it was the closest thing he could latch himself to. He waited for the stupid pop song to start, only it didn’t. A dial tone rang out and an automated voice came over instead.

 

_“Hello, this is Verizon wireless. The number you are trying to reach is either disconnected or is no longer in service, please contact…”_

 

Enjolras didn’t hear out the rest of the message, the tears came before he could stop them. He could hear himself choking on the air in his lungs and it registered how loud his gross sobbing was but he didn’t care. He didn’t give a fucking shit. The last thing he had left of Grantaire that he could hear and almost believe he was there was gone. The fatigue, the pain, everything he had been suppressing for a month hit him like a train and he just didn’t have it in him to get out of the way anymore. He sobbed and he grew more tired, enough so that he couldn’t remember where he was going in the first place. It wasn’t until Combeferre called him that he even remembered they were supposed to have been in a meeting. Combeferre realized by Enjolras’s ragged breathing and short answers that something was wrong. Combeferre rescheduled their appointment and promptly picked up Enjolras and took him home. 

 

Before they even hit the front door Enjolras had already erupted into a full blown panic attack. He was shaking so badly that Combeferre had to nearly carry him into the apartment. Enjolras’s heart was racing and he felt as though he might faint or throw up or both, he couldn’t really tell. His head felt like a jumble of thoughts and moments from different times but the only constant one was

 

_‘Grantaire is dead. He’s dead and he’s never coming back. You’ll never hear his voice again and it is. All. Your. Fault.’_

Eponine had heard the commotion and had come into the living room as Combeferre threw directions her way. She gave Enjolras a weary and nervous look but obeyed. Combeferre took Enjolras’s hands and made him look at him. 

 

“Enjolras, I need you to calm down. It’s all right. You’re all right.”

 

Enjolras pushed Combeferre back with enough force he nearly fell over.

 

“Don’t FUCKING spout that bullshit to ME. I WON’T CALM DOWN AND IT WILL _NEVER_ BE ALL RIGHT. Grantaire is _dead_ and it is MY FAULT. He took that bullet for something I WANTED LIKE HE ALWAYS WOULD HAVE AND I KNEW IT. I LET HIM DIE. I KILLED HIM.” Enjolras couldn’t stop now and Combeferre was in shock as Eponine watched in horror. 

 

“WHAT ARE WE TRYING TO DO, COMBEFERRE? GET ALL OF OUR FRIENDS SENT TO THE SLAUGHTER? I COULDN’T KEEP THE ONLY PERSON WHO LOVED ME AS MUCH AS I LOVED HIM ALIVE AND LOOK HOW FAR WE’VE GOTTEN. NO WHERE. YOU ALL TALK ABOUT HOW GREAT OF A LEADER I AM AND YET I LEAD ONE OF US STRAIGHT TO OUR DEATHS.” 

 

_“Enjolras.”_ Combeferre whispers but Enjolras was finally letting everything go, his guilt, his hate, his misgivings, everything.

 

Enjolras couldn’t breathe and, if it were possible, his heart rate had jumped up even farther. The tears were stinging his eyes and he could no longer properly see, not that it mattered. Nothing did, because Grantaire was dead and it was his fault. 

 

His breath was starting to short out and come in quick spurts. He was choking on his tears and what little air could fill his lungs. He collapsed back on to the couch and grabbed the armrest for some kind of support. It didn’t support much. Combeferre lost any ability he had to decipher whether Enjolras was choking because he was crying or crying because he was choking. He realized that Enjolras was having a severe panic attack and if it kept up, they needed to go to the hospital. 

 

“’Ponine, I need you to get the paramedics on speed dial. Don’t call yet.” He says softly so Enjolras can’ t hear him. Eponine shoots him a worried look but nods and goes to grab her cell phone. 

“Enjolras.” Combeferre says. 

 

Enjolras lifts his head to look at Combeferre but his eyes only held pain and no real recognition of what he was looking at. 

 

“Enjolras,” Combeferre tries again, “This is not your fault.”

 

Enjolras prepares to interrupt him but Combeferre puts his hands on his friend’s shoulders and holds him in place. He looks Enjolras in the eyes and says, fiercely, 

 

“You’re going to be quiet and you’re going to listen so don’t try to fight me on this. This is NOT your fault. You DID NOT kill Grantaire. Grantaire knew it would be dangerous to be involved with us and he took that risk willingly. You never pushed him into something he did not want and those maniacs killed him for spite and in hopes of crushing what progress the world is making. This is and never will be your fault; Grantaire’s blood is not on your hands. He loved you and made his decision with that in mind and you know if he were here, he would punch you and tell you to stop being so vain as to think _you_ killed him.”

 

Combeferre released his friend. Enjolras sat in silence and he slowly calmed down enough to where he was no longer hyperventilating. Eponine had returned and deemed it safe to put her phone up she looked at Combeferrre and gave him a _‘I’m about to do something, don’t freak out’_ look. She sat next to Enjolras on the couch and gently took his hands in her own. 

 

“You’re the only person I can think of that would hate me more than I do, Eponine.”

 

She rubbed calming circles into her hand, he guessed that’s where Grantaire had learned it from. 

 

“I need you to listen to me, Enjolras. Not just hear me, look at me and listen.” She says calmly but demanding. He obeys. He could do little else in his state.

 

“I do not hate you. I can see you’re wondering why so I’ll tell you the truth. I am angry, I am depressed and I am in more pain than I have ever imagined and so are you. We both feel his absence and we are both hurting. I don’t hate you because this, like Combeferre has told you, is not your fault. We have been wronged and there is nothing we can do it about it. Grantaire would want you to be happy; it was always what he wanted and half why he followed you so obediently at times. He would want me to be happy too. We can help each other you know. Neither of us has ever been good at this whole comfort thing, that’s why we have him,” she shoots her back at Combeferre, “so trust me when I say, we care for you and don’t blame you so you should not blame yourself, especially if I don’t” Eponine finishes. 

 

Enjolras had stopped shaking and was quietly looking at Eponine. They sit like that for several minutes and it begins to worry Combeferre until Enjolras finally says

 

“Thank you. Can I…can you tell me stories about him? We never really talked about him in the past and just want to know more about him and…” he doesn’t finish his thought and Eponine puts a hand to cheek and says soothingly,

 

“Of course. It will help me remember and it will help you move on. We can talk as long as you need it. Like I said, we can help each other.” 

 

In that moment, Enjolras felt more grateful for Eponine’s presence than he ever had before. He needed someone who loved Grantaire as deeply as he did, and Eponine did. They, Eponine and Grantaire, were like siblings and had known each other for years. A pain neither could fully cope with bonded Eponine and Enjolras and Combeferre saw each of them change, for the better, in that moment. He was able to finally let out a sigh of relief and says,

 

“I’ll make you two some coffee.”

 

Eponine and Enjolras talked about Grantaire for the rest of the night, and Combeferre listened. They talked about Grantaire as a child, a teen and an adult. They talked about his art and how passionate he could be. All the fights he’d gotten into on Eponine’s behalf and Enjolras’s. They talked about everything they could think of and Enjolras was able to breathe a little better and it was the first night Eponine hadn’t cried herself to sleep since the night Grantaire died. Combeferre smiled and he thinks things would get better for them soon.

Combeferre was just happy to finally see them look alive again.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so I know what you're thinking "this bitch is a dirty liar, this story will never be happy." 
> 
> This is wrong, I am not a liar it will be a few more chapters but the END will be happy. So come say hi on tumblr at er-will-send-me-to-the-er.tumblr.com.
> 
>  
> 
> I'm so sorry.


End file.
